“Who’s that?” I asked, peering through noisy, encrusted masses at a tall man in a black judge’s robe.
Next to the man stood a little plastic table. And on the table lay the floppy form of the husk king. At least that’s what I saw.
“Pilate,” answered Impartial.
As Pilate started unrolling this huge piece of paper in his hands, a hush seemed to settle through the rotten crowd. Then staring at the paper through small, thin-rimmed glasses, Pilate read out in a loud voice: “You,” he gestured at the husk, “are charged with blasphemy, with false miracles, and with impersonating a God who makes all things. What do you have to say for yourself?”
The thing on the table was . . . well, at least as quiet and unmoving as the table.
“You answer not?” barked Pilate as if surprised. “Then I shall proceed with the individual counts brought against you by Law.”
“What does he see?” I asked my guide. I was nervous, but also kind of relieved to have finally brought up the subject of the king and . . . and of how things looked, y’know?
“It is as he says,” answered Impartial.
Pilate continued, “You order masses of the very citizens you claim rulership over to be slaughtered whenever you visit their cities and villages. And now you stay silent? You call yourself God, yes?”
Again, nothing happened or changed. I kept thinking I must have missed something important.
I glanced over at Impartial but got distracted seeing THE COP and Detective right at the back of everyone, both standing still like a picture, and both wearing these really dorky, informal clothes. I mean, they had huge, silly smiles stuck on their faces, like they didn’t care about the trial or anything. And in-between them stood the broomstick person with stools for arms and a shiny ball for a head, Figalo.
Pilate carried on, his voice now settled low and calm to perfectly match Impartial’s, “If God were a person, then why would it want its created people to undergo such terror of being wiped out at its return?” Pilate motioned to show he was now speaking to the crowd. “Should a God-King be forgiven for inflicting such dread upon its citizenry?”
Jeers and roars erupted up in a united chorus, “No!”
“And what should be the punishment for this supposed God-King’s sins?”
“Kill him!” screamed the crowd in eerie unison as if being worked by a single mind.
“No mercy, then,” pressed Pilate, “for a Being that would create a world in which its created beings ever needed to be sacrificed?”
“No mercy!” shouted the crowd.
“What’s happening?” I gasped, feeling a coldness like death shiver through me to my core.
“Ironic,” stated Impartial. “The decision seems to be that being a person would render the rule and actions of the God-King, Jean Bur Spicules, unforgivable.”
The awful coldness grew, and I started to shiver. But I wasn’t afraid. I…
Okay, I don’t know how to say this next part…
For some reason it’s like I suddenly remembered someone I’d known . . . before . . . I mean, before all this. I knew I wanted to call that person The Listener. And I knew The Listener was someone I . . . I just really missed. That’s all. But I think the reason I remembered then was I knew The Listener would have loved to have heard that last thing about worlds of beings created for reasons.
Honestly, though, I didn’t understand any of it. I had no idea who or what the husk king or broomstick person were meant to be, or why. I couldn’t remember anything else about The Listener. The trial, the kingdom, the law, the prophecies . . . all those self-solved cases covering desks and walls . . . none of it made any sense to me.
I turned back to Impartial, but Impartial was gone.
Then looking over at Pilate . . . The Detective and COP . . . and all those poor, desperate souls, I was sure I saw in every face the essence of the one who had been my guide in this strange, sad world.
Were they all looking back at me?
Oh yeah, both the husk king and Figalo (or Figs) were also gone.
I don't know anything 